The Gift of a Child Page 6

  Seth saw his father waiting for them at the barn. After they’d stabled their horses, Sophie hurried into the house to begin dinner preparations, but Andrew laid a hand on Seth’s shoulder. After discussing the herd and the upcoming banknote due date, his father came to the point. “You’re mighty fond of that little Alf.” When Seth merely nodded, his father went on. “Children take to you. Have you thought about settling down, getting married?”

  Seth groaned, suspecting his father and sister had been discussing his single state, and that they were in cahoots. “Yep. I reckon it’s not for me.”

  There was no escaping his father’s steely gaze. “Why not?”

  Seth struggled for words, then simply shrugged.

  “It’s because of your mother.”

  Seth swallowed, unable to speak.

  His father planted his hands on his son’s knees. “Look at me. I know what you’re thinking. You were there that night. You saw something no small boy should ever witness.” Andrew heaved a deep sigh. “It was horrible and made no sense, but sometimes bad things just happen. Whatever you may think, though, God didn’t fail us. He sent us beautiful Sophie.” He leaned back then, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t know much, son, but I know this. Love is worth the risk. You’ve always shied away from that risk.”

  Stunned, Seth realized this was more truth from his father than he’d ever heard. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said.

  “Can’t promise that, Seth.”

  Maybe if he weren’t so methodical, dissecting everything. If he could ever, just once, be passionate about a woman, then...but that was foolishness. He had no idea even how to court one. “It’s just who I am, Pa.”

  His father stood up and pulled his pipe out of his shirt pocket. “Maybe, maybe not. Be open, son. God has great things in store for you.” Andrew struck a match on his boot, then puffed on his pipe, the savory tobacco aroma filling the air.

  Seth wanted to believe his father, but it was difficult. “Best get washed up,” he said, then walked toward the house, all the while sensing his father’s eyes on his back.

  * * *

  Friday was baking day and after wiping down the table, Rose stood back in satisfaction, inhaling the yeasty smell of bread and surveying the pastries in the pie safe. Alf sat contentedly munching on a warm slice lathered with apple butter and sprinkled with cinnamon. Rose placed her hands in the small of her aching back and stretched, then took off her flour-dusted apron and turned to Alf. “How about a walk around town?”

  He clapped his sticky hands. “See some horses?”

  Rose laughed. “Yes, indeed, but first finish your bread so you can wash up.”

  The boy took another big bite and looked at her with sparkling eyes. After he’d finished, she washed his hands and face, and they set off down the street. For Alf, exercise was not the point of their excursion—it was discovery. First he hunkered to examine a woolly caterpillar, then skipped on down the street to pluck a dandelion from a neighbor’s lawn. “Here, Rose. I give you a posy.” Rose smiled, knowing no exotic orchid would ever be as beautiful.

  Along the way they stopped to visit with several friends. But spotting Sheriff Jensen striding toward them, Rose stepped into his path and with trepidation asked the question looming over her every thought. “Any news concerning Alf?”

  He removed his hat and with a slight bow said, “Nothing yet. Sorry.”

  After they parted, Rose sighed with no small amount of guilt, grateful that the lack of news ensured her continued care of Alf.

  Later, at the corner of Broadway, Bertha Britten approached, her black hat perched just so on her massed hair, one spindly arm hooked into the handle of a shopping basket. Head down, as if on an important mission, she nearly ran into them. “Bertha, good afternoon.”

  The woman stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Rose. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time to palaver. I’m in a hurry.”

  Alf tugged on Rose’s skirt, “I seed this lady before.”

  “Yes, in church. Bertha, you remember my Alf.”

  Inexplicably, Bertha’s face turned red. “Of course, I remember, but I hardly think he’s ‘your’ Alf. Why, you’re not even married.” She hoisted her basket in front of her chest like a shield. “Now, excuse me, but I have other things to do.” She brushed past them, tsking as she went.

  Rose sagged against a hitching post. Alf sneezed, then tugged on her arm. “That’s a mean lady. C’mon. Get away.” When Rose looked down, his little face was one big frown. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his nose.

  “She could have been nicer, but we’re not going to let her ruin our day, are we? Look over there.” She pointed to the livery stable where two horses were just being saddled.

  “Horses!” He broke away from her. “Sett!”

  “Oh, no, honey. Those horses are for other men. Seth is working at the ranch.”

  His eyes widened in disappointment. “Far away?”

  “Yes, but you’ll see him Sunday at church.”

  “Sunday. Sett. Good.” He swung her hand back and forth as he led her to study the horses. “Big horse. Brown. Little one. Gray.” He stared at the horseflesh with all the interest of a livestock broker.

  Finally Rose succeeded in dragging him away, but not before he’d sneezed several times. Dust from the livery, no doubt. She wanted to go by the nearly completed courthouse, which loomed impressively above the prairie. Just then, though, in the shadow of a basement door overhang, she noticed a couple, oblivious to the world, entwined in an embrace.

  Rose stopped in her tracks, aware of a strange tingling in her chest. Once she had known such stolen moments, had felt whiskers caress her face and had melted through and through as warm lips sought hers. What a fool she had been, actually picturing herself swept into the dashing sergeant’s arms and carried off to a future of loving nights, of babies, of actually daring to think of herself as desirable. And maybe he had cared for her. More likely, not. Loneliness can make a man do strange things.

  She would never forget her humiliation that day at Fort Larned when she had wandered into the sutler’s just at mail call and seen one of the officers waving a letter and calling out, “Hey, Sarge, lucky you. Here’s a letter from your wife.”

  Men. Strange creatures. Not to be trusted. That had been the lesson of that black afternoon. Never again would she put herself in the situation of appearing so foolish, so gullible.

  Alf pulled her out of her fog. “I’m gonna go see that lady.”

  Still lost in the past, Rose was puzzled. “Go see who?”

  “Horse lady.” Alf wrenched away from her grasp and darted across the still barren courthouse lawn. “There!”

  Rose scurried after him, but then stopped as the embracing couple broke apart. Horse lady, of course. Sophie. Slowly Rose started forward. Alf flung himself into Sophie’s arms, while Charlie Devane stepped back and swiped a hand through his hair, as if composing himself.

  Oh, Seth, Rose thought as she moved quickly toward the trio, no doubt about it. These two are passionately in love.

  * * *

  Once again Seth had to admit his sister could sweet-talk him into anything. Being thrown from a bronc, though, might be easier than watching Sophie stroll toward the river with Charlie Devane, picnic basket in hand on this Sunday afternoon. It confounded him that his father seemed to take this budding romance in stride.

  So, more fool he, he’d once again agreed to wait in town to fetch his sister. Fortunately, Ezra Kellogg, overhearing Sophie’s request at church, had invited him home for Sunday dinner. Given the prospect of spending time with Rose’s cooking and Alf, he hadn’t needed further persuasion.

  Even from the Kelloggs’ front porch, he could smell the tantalizing aroma of roast chicken. Ezra greeted him at the door and ushered
him into the parlor, where Alf sat on the carpet beside a stack of blocks. “Sett?” The boy let the block in his hand drop to the floor and held out his arms to Seth as he ran toward him. Seth settled in a wooden armchair, cradling the boy against his chest, unfazed by the gray cat who jumped up to join them.

  “Alf seems powerful fond of you,” Ezra noted, sinking into the rocker.

  “He’s special,” Seth commented, feeling the boy’s small hands gripping his wrists.

  “It’s good for him to have a manly influence beyond his tottering old grandpa.”

  “I can’t help wondering where he came from. What he’s been through.”

  “We may never know,” the older man said. “My prescription for him is love and coddling, and Rose is doing a pretty good job of that.”

  Talk then turned to the pastor’s sermon and speculation about Ulysses S. Grant’s presidency. All the while, Seth could hear the clink of china from the kitchen. After a few minutes, Rose, her face flushed, summoned them to the table. As Seth set Alf down in his chair, he wiped the youngster’s runny nose with his bandanna.

  The meal lived up to its promise, and there was little conversation until they were all satisfied. When she cleared the table, Rose paused at Alf’s place. “Aren’t you hungry, dear?”

  Seth noticed then that the boy had succeeded in making a lake of his mashed potatoes and gravy, into which he’d stirred small bites of chicken, but had eaten little.

  Alf hung his head. “Don’t want food.”

  Rose set down his plate and put her hand on his forehead. “Papa, do you think he has a bit of fever?”

  Ezra got up from the table and took the boy in his arms. He, too, laid a hand on Alf’s forehead. “Perhaps.” He examined the glands along the boy’s chin line and looked deep into his eyes. “How do you feel?”

  Alf snuggled against the doctor, his eyes at half-mast. “Sleepy.”

  “Maybe he overdid at church,” Rose suggested, her face drawn.

  “In that case, it’s nothing a good nap won’t cure,” Ezra said, carrying the boy into the bedroom, trailed by Rose.

  Restless, Seth moved into the parlor and sat in an armchair. Surely this was a spring fever. Nothing to be concerned about. Yet his mind defied him as his thoughts turned to the time they had almost lost Sophie when she was a little older than Alf. He now tried to console himself with the knowledge that most childhood illnesses could be survived. Quietly, Ezra reappeared. “He’s asleep. Rose will be out shortly.” He consulted his pocket watch. “While Alf rests, I’m going to work in the garden.”

  Feeling out of place, Seth got to his feet.

  “No, son, please stay. Perhaps you can divert Rose while the boy gets the rest he needs.”

  After Ezra went out the back door, Seth waited, wondering how he could possibly be company for Rose.

  Finally she glided into the room and sank into a rocker. “He’s asleep, though fitfully.”

  Her high-collared apple-green dress set off the depth of her troubled eyes, and he resisted the urge to take her hand and tell her all would be well. He didn’t know that, and even if he did, he hadn’t the right.

  They passed a few moments in silence while Seth struggled for a conversation topic. He finally spoke. “I understand from Caleb that your Aunt Lavinia will be arriving shortly.”

  The minute he saw Rose’s shoulders droop, he knew he should have come up with some other opening. “You don’t seem happy with the prospect.”

  Rose, usually so calm, almost serene, worried the buttons on her shirtwaist with her fingers. “Lily is pleased, but my memories of my aunt make me...” she hesitated “...apprehensive.”

  “How so?”

  Rose levered herself up from her chair and paced the room as she answered his question. “She is a grand lady, Seth. Her life has been so different from ours, from my mother’s.” She straightened an antimacassar on the back of the settee. “She has never known want. Her house is the stuff of fairy tales. The time Lily spent in St. Louis accustomed her to Lavinia’s ways, but I have little idea of what is motivating her to come.”

  Sensing there was still more Rose needed to say, Seth waited. She made another circuit of the room before returning to her seat. Taking a deep breath, she looked him straight in the eye, and in a hushed voice said, “Seth, I’m scared.”

  “Tell me about it.” He clenched his hands in his lap, feeling out of his depth with female confession.

  “It’s Alf. I can handle whatever opinion Aunt Lavinia may form of me, but I’m terrified she will reject Alf. After all, he is of mixed parentage, and as several people in town take pains to point out, I am an unmarried mother. Neither of those circumstances, I’m sure, would meet the standards of high society.”

  “Caleb has told me about your aunt and her airs, but he also told me of her role in convincing Lily to accept his marriage proposal. Surely she is coming to Cottonwood Falls to be with family, so why would she immediately reject any of you? You may have to give her time. Give yourself time, too.” Seth let out his held breath. No expert on relationships, who was he to offer advice?

  Rose leaned forward. “Of course, you’re right, but I have such a sense of God’s will at work in my life with Alf.”

  “God’s will.” Seth couldn’t refrain from a sardonic smile. “In your case, I’m sure He is at work for good.” He censored himself before other words gushed forth.

  Rose cocked her head as if hearing a new sound. “Seth? Can you question Him?”

  “I can and I do.”

  “Your mother? After all this time?”

  Seth fought the need to leave the room. He had never once spoken his doubts aloud. “You can’t know what it was like to stand in that room and watch my mother’s life ebb away even as I promised God anything to save her. Or to see my father collapse like a reed in a tempest. Where was God then?” He swallowed several times to choke back the flood of emotion threatening to overcome him. “My father has always said Sophie was a gift from God. That is the only explanation that helps me maintain even a shred of faith. I go through the motions of belief, but I struggle always.”

  Rose came to him and knelt in front of him, her hands on his knees. When she looked at him, her eyes brimmed with compassion. “What a burden you’ve shouldered. There is so much we cannot understand, so much that seems cruel and purposeless. When my brother, David, was killed in battle, the senselessness of it shattered our family, but without our faith, we’d have been totally lost.” She sat back on her feet, her hands now folded in her lap. “The Bible gives us comfort in such moments. ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face...’”

  In an effort to return to some semblance of normalcy, Seth leaned over, grasped her hands and, as he stood, helped her to her feet. She mustered a smile and said, “Perhaps even Aunt Lavinia is part of God’s plan.”

  “Yes, even Aunt Lavinia. Just let her try to criticize Alf.” He grinned. “She’ll have me to deal with.” Yet the attempt at lightening the mood failed when he looked down at Rose’s hands in his—so warm and small, roughened by work, yet so endearing. The tightening of his chest came out of nowhere, and in every sense, he felt as if in the grip of a power beyond his control.

  Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Rose slipped her fingers from his and once again sat down, letting the silence continue before saying, “May I pray for you, Seth? For belief? Faith?”

  All he could do was shrug. “Can’t hurt.”

  Then, as if the sun were breaking out of storm clouds, she smiled and said, “God is working in your life, Seth, even now. One day you’ll see.” Then she changed the subject to the continuing progress on the courthouse and her recent encounter with the sheriff, but after a few minutes excused herself to check on Alf.

  When she returned, her brow was creased with worry, and Seth jumped t
o his feet. “I must summon Papa. Our little boy is burning up.”

  A sort of paralysis came over Seth before he collected himself. “You go to Alf. I’ll fetch Ezra.”

  A few minutes later, bending over the boy, the doctor called for cool cloths, which Rose hastened to prepare. “Is there anything I can do?” Seth asked helplessly.

  Ezra looked up, peering over his spectacles. “You go on and collect your sister, son. We can handle this. If we need more help, Rose’s friend Bess, who I understand is a nurse, can help us.”

  Walking toward the livery stable, Seth’s thoughts raced. Concern for Alf. His own total loss of self-control in telling Rose about his mother’s death and his subsequent questioning of God. The way the woman unerringly pulled from him thoughts and feelings he had worked so long and hard to keep buried.

  Why now? Why Rose?

  Despite all his good intentions that he needed no woman in his life, something else filled his thoughts for the rest of the day and into the night. Rose’s tear-washed blue eyes, so full of...he could only call it love. And her dear hands nestled in his. Fitting his.

  * * *

  Rose sat motionless, eyes fixed on her boy—his hair damp and matted, his eyes glassy and his lips parched. The grandfather clock struck twice, disturbing the silence of the night in which the only other sound was Alf’s raspy breathing. She and Papa had done what they could to make him comfortable—a tepid bath, a tonic of honey and water, even ice chips from the spring house. Yet, in the last hour, the boy had become more agitated, an intermittent cough disturbing his rest. Rose knew she would soon have to awaken Papa and put voice to the fear gripping her heart in a vise. Whooping cough.

  More than once with neighbors’ children, she had heard that unmistakable sound—the strangled, unearthly cough as a little one struggled for breath. She gripped the side of Alf’s bed, willing it not to be so. Such a diagnosis was all too often a death sentence. As she had done throughout the evening, she lifted her face heavenward. “Lord Jesus, please bring Your healing powers to bear on Alf. We love him dearly and he has so much more life to live, if that be Your will. I pray You to spare him.” In her heart, she also heard her mother’s caution: “Thy will, not mine, be done.”